The café hadn't changed.
Tucked between a flower shop and an antique bookstore, Nora's was exactly as Michael remembered it—warm brick walls, tiny round tables with lace runners, the faint smell of cinnamon always hanging in the air. It was the place he and Heather used to go to when things were still innocent. When the idea of forever didn't feel like a trap.
Now, it felt... empty.
He hadn't meant to bring Lorna here. At least not consciously. They'd spent the afternoon in session, the conversation rawer than usual, and afterward, he found himself driving aimlessly. She'd offered to come along for coffee—just coffee—and somehow they'd ended up here.
Lorna whispered, "I see it," as she peered around the café. "The walls of this place are filled with old love."
Michael laughed quietly and without humor. Over there, we engraved our initials on the window seat. believed it to be forever.
She followed his gaze as he gestured.
Lorna remained silent. She was wise enough to avoid using clichés to ease suffering.
She sipped her tea instead. "What brought me here?"
"I didn't intend to," he said candidly. "I just wanted to see if I was still held by the past in the same way that I was before."
"And?" she inquired.
Michael faced her. In the dim light, her face was soft. Just present, neither judgmental nor demanding.
He gave a shrug. "Perhaps I thought it would feel different if I came here with someone else."
Lorna's head cocked. "Is it?"
He didn't respond. He stared at her lips for a little too long.
The atmosphere shifted.
Neither of them took immediate action. However, the tension between them was electric and brittle. The distance between their chairs was now too small for comfort, so Michael leaned forward a little. Her lips parted, not in invitation but in hesitation, and her breath caught.
Then it happened, all of a sudden.
Michael gave her a kiss.
It wasn't prearranged. It wasn't flawless. Like a dam bursting, it was urgent and raw. When his hand touched the side of her face and her palm touched his chest, they were able to temporarily forget everything.
Then he withdrew.
Suddenly.
The chair made a scraping sound on the floor. His breath was ragged. "I apologize," he said hastily as he got to his feet. "I shouldn't have—"
"Michael—" Lorna began, grabbing him.
He shook his head, saying, "No." "I—I believed I could. However, I am unable to. I am not prepared for this.
She stood as well, her eyes glimmering with emotion but her face carefully composed. "It wasn't incorrect," she muttered. "You're just afraid."
"Just that," he yelled. "And that anxiety? It destroys everything.
He turned away and took clipped steps toward the door. It was getting dark outside. In vain, the café's lights chased after him, spilling onto the damp sidewalk.
Inside, Lorna remained motionless, her hands clenched at her sides.
It hadn't been an error.
However, it might have been premature.
Both of them would now have to confront the recent awakening and the implications for the walls they still carried.